


Carnivorous Flying Horses

by Corpium



Series: Stiles the Consulting Supernaturalist [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Future Fic, I think it's readable as a standalone tho, Jossverse - Freeform, M/M, Sequel, i'm not even joking, idek guys, rated T for curse words, what have I done?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-06
Updated: 2013-08-06
Packaged: 2017-12-22 15:25:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/914838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corpium/pseuds/Corpium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While working as a consultant at Peter's law firm, Stiles kills a Gorgon and sets an evil, carnivorous Pegasus loose on the state of California.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carnivorous Flying Horses

**Author's Note:**

> Please don't add/rate this on goodreads or copy/duplicate this outside of personal use.

A burlap sack drops onto Peter's work desk with a wet thunk. "I found your fuckin' Gorgon," Stiles grumbles, dropping into the chair opposite Peter with a sigh.

 

Peter looks up from his paperwork. Stiles is sweaty and out of breath, his hair a mess and his chest heaving. His left cheek is bruised and swollen, and there's dirt smeared across his forehead. There's a pair of reflective sunglasses spattered with blood tucked into the pocket of his dust-covered white button-up. He looks absolutely delicious. "Hmm," Peter hums before he looks back down at his paperwork.

 

He takes a minute to finish reading the last paragraph of a complicated, boring-ass technical contract, scribbles a note asking the writer to clarify the last sentence, then sets his pen down and looks up. Stiles is spinning in his chair, making faces at the ceiling. It should look stupid, but the way Stiles is contorting his lips makes Peter think of other, far more worthwhile endeavors for that mouth.

 

Peter eyes the burlap sack. He picks it up, weighing it. Definitely a decapitated head. He glances up. The glasses gleam as Stiles spins around. "The glasses worked fine?" Peter asks.

 

"Mmhmm. He didn't see that comin'. You should have heard his scream. Jesus."

 

Peter snorts and reaches inside his desk. He pulls out an envelope and hands it over to Stiles. "Here's your check," he says, but when Stiles stops spinning and tries to take it, Peter tightens his grip on the paper. Stiles looks at him, raising his eyebrows. "Dinner?" Peter asks, voice lowered, a grin tugging at his lips.

 

Now it's Stiles's turn to snort. He tugs the envelope away and leans back in the chair, crossing his arms. "You know what, I might've actually said yes for once, but unfortunately there's something we, well, I, but I'd prefer 'we' to be honest, have to take care of first."

 

"And what's that?" asks Peter, frowning slightly.

 

Stiles opens his mouth then shuts it. He seems to shrug to himself, then laughs lightly. Peter will never cease to find Stiles's face entertaining. The younger man looks up at Peter, a bemused smile on his face. "How do you feel about Pegasus?" he asks.

 

"The winged horse?" Peter asks, eyebrows raised as high as possible.

 

"Yeah, you know," Stiles says. "The one that sprang out of Medusa's decapitated body? Well, turns out there's some truth to the legend," he says, trying and failing to contain his amusement.

 

Peter sighs and looks up at the ceiling for guidance. There is none. All is lost. He looks at Stiles. "Do you know where it went?"

 

Stiles jerks a thumb over his shoulder. "Mountains. A couple hours' drive away."

 

Peter picks up his phone and glances at the time. It's almost five in the evening. "Can it wait till tomorrow?"

 

Stiles his head. "Nope. See, unlike in the myth, this Pegasus is carnivorous. Tried to take a chunk out of my arm, fangs and everything."

 

This displeases Peter. The only one who should be biting Stiles is him, and he hasn't even gotten to do that since their not-a-one-night-stand when he first hired Stiles.

 

Stiles doesn't seem to notice Peter's displeasure, though. He grins. "So, got any golden bridles lying around?"

 

"It's Wolfram & Hart. I'm sure we have one somewhere."

 

Peter picks up his phone and dials one of his co-worker's numbers. As the phone rings, he breathes in deeply. Stiles smells of sweat and faded deodorant, of long worn-out hair product and adrenaline. It's a smell Peter's come to appreciate, to find intoxicating, if he's being honest with himself, but what he doesn't appreciate is the way Stiles absolutely _reeks_ of some woman's fruity perfume.

 

The only person Stiles should reek of is Peter.

 

Peter tries not to pout.

 

 

o-o-o

 

 

Peter plans to interrogate Stiles about the strange scent once they're well on their way to the mountains and Stiles has nowhere to run, but Stiles falls asleep instead. His head's propped up against the car window, his mouth slightly open and hair still mussed. Sometimes he laughs or huffs like he's annoyed. It's, well, frankly it's adorable. Peter takes pictures. For reasons. _Nefarious_ reasons, of course, because he still has some self-respect, after all.

 

He parks in the forest preserve parking lot. "Stiles," he says. It's polite, normal; he's not invading Stiles's space or 'creeping on him', but there's no response.

 

Well, can't say he didn't try.

 

 

o-o-o

 

 

Stiles wakes up to a hand on the nape of his neck, fingers massaging his skin. Stiles blinks slowly, leaning into the touch. His body aches all over from the fight with the Gorgon, and this little massage is working wonders on his muscles. The hand starts working on a small knot, and Stiles sucks in a breath. "God, Peter," he moans, because of course he knows who it is; he's not a complete dumbass. "Stop that."

 

As Peter huffs and pulls his hand away, Stiles rolls his head over to look at him. "That is not how we wake people up," he tells Peter sternly, but it's ruined by a wide yawn. He rubs his eyes and stretches. When he looks back at Peter, the werewolf's watching him, smirking. "Shut up," Stiles snaps.

 

Peter snorts, shaking his head, and opens his car door. "Come on, it's already a quarter past eight. Time to get moving."

 

Stiles gets out of the car, thinking. It's been like this for a couple months now -Peter pushes all his buttons, testing his boundaries, and Stiles shuts him down. Stiles will never admit it, but they've got a nice comaradery going; the banter's fun, and Stiles -in a strange way Stiles feels like he can trust Peter. It probably helps that, unlike when they were back in Beacon Hills, Stiles doesn't have to worry about him plotting to kill Derek all the time. The cases are fun, too. But...

 

Stiles doesn't know how much longer he can do this. Peter's... intense, and Stiles doesn't _really_ know where he stands with the guy. To Peter, is Stiles just the consultant Wolfram & Hart hired who just happens to share a history with him, or is all the baiting and button-pushing a sign of something more?

 

Stiles has no idea, and it's not like he can flat out _ask_ , right?

 

 

o-o-o

 

 

Stiles whirls around. "I swear to God, if I hear you sniff one more time I'm going to cut off your nose."

 

Peter rolls his eyes and leans back against the nearest tree, crossing his arms. "It's not my fault you reek." He sniffs and wrinkles his nose.

 

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Stiles takes a step forward. " _That's_ why you're sniffing? Not because you're tracking the flying horse, but because I _stink_ really bad?" Stiles makes an aborted choking motion with his hands. "I spent all day tracking and killing a Gorgon. What do you expect!?"

 

"I don't expect fruity perfume."

 

"...What?"

 

"You. Smell. Like. Fruity perfume."

 

Stiles squints at him. "And here I thought you couldn't be any more insane." He sighs and starts to walk away, only to be tugged back around by a hand at his elbow.

 

There's a rush of air and movement, and then Stiles is being shoved up against the tree, the bark rubbing against his jacket. "Why do you smell like perfume?" Peter growls.

 

Stiles doesn't care that he's not a werewolf. He growls back and shoves at Peter's chest, not that it does any good. "Maybe I had a hot date." He shoves again. "Maybe I had hot, kinky monkey sex-" Another shove. "With the future-" Shove. "Mrs.-" Shove. "Stilinski!" One final shove, and Peter's stepping back, giving Stiles a few inches of space. Still not good enough. "And you know what, _Peter_ ," Stiles jabs his index finger into Peter's chest. "Whatever I did, it's none-" jab "-of your fucking-" jab "-business!" Jab. He marches forward, ramming his shoulder into Peter's as he passes, and surprisingly, the werewolf lets him get away with it.

 

Except not really, because after a brief moment of stalking forward, Stiles sees Peter come up beside him out of the corner of his eye. "How much further until the goddamn magic lake?" Stiles asks.

 

He sees Peter shrug in his peripheral vision. They walk in silence for a minute, and Stiles starts to think the conversation is over, but then-

 

"You're right. It's none of my business," Peter says solemnly.

 

Stiles glances over at the werewolf like the guy needs a strait-jacket. "Who are you, and what have you done with Peter Hale?"

 

Peter ignores him. "But would you like it to be?"

 

Stiles stumbles and looks -really looks- at Peter. Somehow the werewolf manages to give the impression of being nonchalant. "Excuse me?" Stiles asks, and he absolutely does not stutter.

 

Peter stops walking, and Stiles stops with him automatically. "I was serious about dinner," Peter says. "It's a little late for today, but how about tomorrow?"

 

"I-" Stiles scratches the back of his neck, blinking rapidly. He swears, he's missing something here. He's been asked out before; he practically expects it now because let's face it, he's hot stuff, but _Peter Hale? Really!? (!?!?!?!?!?!???????)_ "What?"

 

The nonchalant expression drops off Peter's face, his entire expression flattening into one giant 'why me?' He crowds into Stiles's space, and Stiles finds himself hitting a tree -again. "Do you want," Peter begins enunciating carefully. "To go out to dinner. With me. Tomorrow. On a date." It's not even a question at this point.

 

"Uh..." Stiles blinks.

 

Peter looks heavenward. "Do I have to spell it out for y-"

 

No, he does not have to spell it out for Stiles, because the two of them are currently being divebombed by an evil Pegasus.

 

Because for once in his life, the supernatural is on Stiles's side.

 

Yay, carnivorous flying horses!

 

(How is this his life?????????)

 

 

o-o-o

 

 

The flying horse is now in the hands of Peter's boss's terrifying little daughter. (The kid wanted a pony for her birthday; her demigod mother got her a demonic horse with wings instead. She loved it.) Stiles ends up on Peter's couch this time ("because It's 3 A.M., Stiles, and your apartment is an extra hour away. No."), and Peter's setting a plate of scrambled eggs in front of him.

 

"Scrambled eggs, really?" Stiles asks, unimpressed. It was only once they got back that Stiles realized how hungry he was.

 

Peter sits down next to him with his own plate and glares at him. "It's past three A.M., and it's fast protein. What more do you want?"

 

Stiles eyes Peter up and down. He's still in his attorney suit, although he's missing the jacket, and trudging through the woods has ruined it forever. His light blue tie's been knocked askew, and his hair's ruffled from wind and fighting evil!Pegasus. He looks good.

 

"Oh, I dunno," Stiles says, keeping a straight face. "Dinner and a movie? A drink afterwards? Maybe a fight with a demon or zombie or some such thing. I mean, I gotta say, Peter, I was expecting something much more impressive than scrambled eggs."

 

Peter carefully sets both their plates on the coffee table, then looks at Stiles intently. A toothy grin spreads across his face, his eyes crinkling and tracking Stiles's throat as he swallows. Peter leans in, carefully not touching, until his mouth is just barely brushing Stiles's ear. "I'll show you impressive," he murmurs, and then he pounces.

**Author's Note:**

> Thestrals. I reinvented thestrals. whoops.
> 
> My tumblr is [corpium](http://corpium.tumblr.com/). Stop by. Say hi. Ask questions. Confide in me. Sell your soul. Enjoy the fandom and bad jokes.
> 
> (Comments and kudos make me feel loved. Love me?)


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